Gum
by oathk33p3r
Summary: Do you know how to blow a bubble with gum? I don't, but that's completely irrelevant to the story.


Gum

_Bubble gum, Bubble gum in a dish,  
How many pieces do you wish?_

With tremendous effort, I manage to lift my arm and rotate the dial of my lock. My hand was shaking by the time I finished the timed-writing I just had. We were supposed to read a short article about a guy who was stuck living with his mom and analyze the relationship between the two main characters. Poor guy.

After aligning the red arrow with the last number of my combination, I pull the bulky metal thing and open my locker.

Heaving a sigh, I lift the pile of textbooks I had in my backpack and stuff them in the small space the school provided us with.

Personally, I hate school. More specifically, I hate the people in my school.

I live on an island, and populations on islands aren't very high. On top of that, I go to a magnet school, which means I had to take a test to get in when I was an eighth grader. The test was fairly easy, the essay portion being my forte. Judging by the grade I have an calculus, I probably got in because I was able to write a mean paper about "caring," which was what I chose from the six pillars of character we were given.

Freshman year was fine; there were over two-hundred of us, which is relatively a lot. But each year, thirty or more students dropped out due to poor grades or family issues. Just last year, my best friend Olette moved to Twilight Town because her father made a new business there.

So guess how many seniors there are left in the jar?

101.

Yeah, I know what you're thinking-_ The 101 Dalmatians_. But trust me. They're not cute little puppies with black spots.

As soon as I shut the locker and lock it, I feel someone place their sharp chin on top of my head.

I groan and shove the person behind me with my elbow.

Sora Wataya. He's one of the main reasons why I hate this place. We've been in each other's lives since the day our mom's took maternal classes together nearly nineteen years ago. He obviously detested me, but he didn't show it as much as I did. I wouldn't call him an enemy, per se, but he definitely wasn't on my friends list either.

I guess you can say that our relationship is like that of a brother and sister. We're stuck together for life whether we like it or not, and we're so used to each other's presence that days where one of us is absent are just plain weird.

But I still despise him, that annoying brat.

"Nami, don't hit me like that," he whines. I manage to spare a roll of my eyes and tuck my hair behind my ears.

"Don't put your claws on my head," I say over my shoulder before making my way towards the art studio. The teacher wanted me to come over as soon as school was over.

Art has always been my pride and joy, the light of my life, my precious treasure, whatever you call your most cherished item. I can sit on the sands of the beach for hours just sketching whatever comes into my field of vision. A blond neighbor was my favorite model. He was like a small angel without wings, running across the soft sands of the shores with his arms stretched out wide. He was probably the most innocent thing that stepped on this little island. But he moved away without a word five years ago.

That's when I went back to drawing rocks during my free time.

The studio is nearly empty. Selphie is by the sink washing out the palettes, and Tidus is talking to the teacher. Mrs. Strife acknowledges me with a slight nod and continues to listen to Tidus.

He walks away with a disappointed look on his face; he probably forgot to bring something again.

"You wanted to see me," I say.

Mrs. Strife turns around and motions to a dark-haired boy I haven't noticed before.

"This is Ross. He transferred from Twilight High because he exceeded their standards."

Impressive.

I look him up and down. His hands are in the pockets of black jeans and he's looking around the room while loudly chewing and snapping his gum. It's obvious that he's trying to look obnoxious.

I already dislike him. Not that he isn't attractive. The sun pouring from the window shines through his dark locks and his nearly translucent skin. After looking at nearly every corner of the room, he turns his focus on me. That's when I notice that his ears are pierced: two black rings on the cartilage of his left. That's it.

Interesting.

"This is Olette. She is my top student, not only because she's an amazing artist, but also because of her way of seeing beyond the image, beyond the paint, beyond the colors…"

Mrs. Strife trails off and looks out into space.

She does that a lot. Along with getting her students' names wrong.

Ross coughs into his balled hand and then shuffles his feet. Mrs. Strife finally comes back down into our world and gives one of her rare smiles.

"Naminé, I want you to help Ross organize his portfolio. Criticize them whenever necessary."

And so that's how I find myself looking through dozens of paintings, sketches, and sculptures for the rest of the afternoon. I gotta admit that this Ross guy is pretty good.

My favorite so far was the painting of an underwater scene. It was interesting how he used watercolors without making it look like he used watercolors.

"I like how you did this. Underwater can be difficult," I spare to say.

He looks over.

"I never painted an underwater scene."

I look back at the painting, and then realize that it's not an underwater scene after all.

It's the sky, but so beautiful are the clouds that they look like fish dancing as gracefully as a fish can dance.

That's when I look back at the forest he sketched. After a closer look, I find that they are actually shadows of people bustling in a crowded street.

I go back and examine each and every picture and see a completely different image. The entire time, Ross remains silent and continues to chew his gum.

Finally, I hold the small sculpture of a pink conch.

I'm actually holding a tiny infant sucking its thumb.

Feeling embarrassed, I put the sculpture back down and look at my shoes instead. I'm too scared to recall all the criticisms I have given him over the past hour.

"You're really good," I murmur.

Then I think of my own art. The dozens of beach scenes and palm trees and landscapes I've drawn. They all seem so boring and dull compared to what Ross created. They're meaningless.

"I think-I think I'm gonna go."

I gather my things to leave, but Ross places a hand on my wrist.

"You need to help me put my portfolio together," he says.

"No you don't," I say flatly.

His hand is still on my wrist.

"I need your help," he says again.

His hand is now holding onto my wrist.

"Sit."

His hand pulls on my wrist, causing me to sit back down on my stool.

Defeated, I look back at the canvases and papers scattered across the large table. I honestly can't figure out why he needs help. He can blindly choose three and still get into the most prestigious art colleges out there.

"Most people don't see what I draw. You're one of the few who's able to look beyond the paintings, see through the disguises. But then again, people rarely see through the disguises of humans either."

There's a long pause.

"You want some gum?" he suddenly asks.

I blink and then look at him to see if he's serious.

"Um, sure."

I take the stick of gum he had already unwrapped for me and fold it into my mouth. It tastes like sea-salt ice cream.

"Want me to chew it for you?"

His voice is even and his face looks so serious that I burst out laughing.

"You can't be serious," I say after a while, shaking my head.

"But I am."

"No thanks, I can chew on my own."

Ross goes back to staring out at the sea again, his eyes seem to be deep in thought. Then he turns his focus back on me.

"May I kiss you then?"

I never met such an awkward person in my life. I avert his gaze and look at his piercings, and then his artwork.

"Um…that's kind of-"

I can smell the sea-salt ice cream in his breath as he closes the gap between us.

And then I can taste it.

"Hi, my name is Roxas," he says. His lips are still hovering over mine.

I look at the roots of his black head of hair and notice that they're blond.

Seeing the spark of recognition in my eyes, he smiles and embraces me.

"That took you longer than those stupid paintings."

So now there are 102 of us, which (I must admit) isn't that bad.


End file.
